


Disc Of Riches- Warfstache Ending

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Part Two of Disc Of Riches, if the wheel stops on A Date With Wilford.





	Disc Of Riches- Warfstache Ending

“You’ve won… A date with yours truly, Wilford Warfstache!”

Behind him, Mark could hear Dark sigh, and imagined him rubbing his face in chagrin. The amusement he felt was dwarfed, by far, by the fear in his throat. 

On stage, with a snap of his fingers, Wilford had seated both himself and Tyler at a table, candles lit in the center. The lights overhead dimmed.

“So, Tyson, tell me a little about yourself,” Wilford purred, leaning over the table. Tyler, still frozen by Wilford’s power, could only glare back, his brain working on overdrive. He had to get away, had to create a distraction…

Wilford pouted, leaning back. “Well, a silent guest is no more fun than no guest at all!” He snapped his fingers to free Tyler’s jaw, allowing him to speak.

“Er, hi, Will.” Tyler wiggled his mouth uncomfortably, still trying to catch sight of Mark, who he knew was trapped somewhere in the shadows. 

“What was it? Ryan? Evan?”

“Uh,” Tyler snapped his eyes back to Wilford’s, who was surveying him like a cut of meat. Have to stall. “T-Tyler.”

“Tyson, great!” Wilford twiddled with his knife, spinning it around his thumb in a flurry of movement. “Why don’t you tell the audience about yourself?”

“I- uh, I’m Tyler, and I-I like–” he stared at Wilford’s fingers, moving faster than the blade. “I like doing knife tricks.” It was a barefaced lie, a thin one, at best, but Wilford’s eyes lit up.

“Oh-ho!” he said, fingers moving even faster. “And what is it you like about knife tricks?”

“Well,” Tyler said, gaining confidence, ignoring the way that the darkness seemed to be growing closer into the glare of the stage lights, “I-I really love watching different tricks, and spinning knives. In fact, if I could show you–”

Wilford scoffed a little, catching his knife by the handle, blade leveled towards Tyler. “You don’t expect me to fall for that, do you?” He waved the knife a little, and Tyler forced himself to chuckle. 

“No, o-of course not. It’s just that your technique is a little off, and you move your wrist a bit more than you should–”

Dark was suddenly on stage, hand clasping Wilford’s shoulder as he struggled to find a retort.

“My technique is not off!”

“Will,” Dark cut him off, silkily. “Aren’t we forgetting something here?”

Tyler watched as Dark’s grip on Wilford’s shoulder tightened, almost painfully. 

“I’m getting to it, Darky boy,” Wilford muttered, looking up at him in ill humor. “You just don’t have an appreciation for the art of killing.”

“This art seems to be taking an awfully long time,” Dark sneered, his knuckles going white against Wilford’s shirt. Tyler could’ve sworn he heard the slight crack of a collarbone.

Wilford saw red, flashing his knife in Dark’s direction instead. “Well if you don’t like it, why don’t you just do it yourself?”

“Certain–”

Wilford’s concentration broke as he pointed his knife at Dark. His power over Tyler broken, rage instead directed at Dark. 

The moment Tyler felt his limbs under his own control, he bolted from the table. Distantly, he swore that he could hear Mark cheering. 

Dark watched, unimpressed, as Tyler ran backstage.”Wilford, I don’t believe that it’s my job to chase after runaway victims.”

Wilford, frustrated in addition to angry, jumped up to seize the front of Dark’s immaculate shirt. “No, but you’re not the one who had to find and lock up the others! You owe me, Darky, and I know how much you hate to owe someone.”

With a scoff, Dark stalked offstage, following Tyler, leaving Wilford fuming in silence. 

Mark, abandoned, tied to a chair in the shadows, chuckled at Dark’s receding figure. “Dark sure has a stick up his butt, huh, Will?” His voice was light, teasing. It took everything Mark had to not struggle, to not scream in anger, in fear. 

Wilford turned back, brushing his hair out of his eyes, wincing at his hurt shoulder. With a sigh, he flopped back into his chair. “He always has.”

Mark saw, with a jolt, that the normally bright colors around Wilford were fading. His mustache was almost gray, his yellow shirt almost white. 

A beat passed, Mark hearing his heartbeat hammering in his ears. I am not afraid. “What happened, Will? Why?”

Wilford, at the question, nervously began flicking his butterfly knife closed, then open again. “It was Dark’s idea,” he said finally, almost mumbling.

“What are you going to achieve by doing this?” Mark asked, gently. He was always as gentle as he could be with a sociopathic serial killer, but Wilford, now, seemed almost vulnerable. 

Wilford was almost fidgeting as he answered. “Dark wants to incapacitate you. Take over the channel completely.”

“Take over the channel by himself? Or the two of you?”

Wilford didn’t answer, now staring down at a spot on the table. Mark shifted in his chair, trepidation mounting. On the list of ‘Stupid Things I Probably Shouldn’t Do,’ provoking a serial killer was probably a very high option. 

Mark jumped a little as Wilford stood up, eyes still lowered, and walked over. He flipped his knife open with a quick click, and Mark flinched. This was it, killed by a character he created and egged on–

Wilford leaned over Mark to cut the ropes that held his hands behind his back. “Stay there,” he muttered, ignoring Mark’s surprise. Wilford caught Mark’s incredulous gaze in a quick, confident wink– in a poof of pink smoke, he was again sitting at his seat at the table.

A second later, Dark walked out from behind the curtains, dragging Tyler. Mark’s face went from incredulity to studied neutrality to horror in a matter of seconds. 

Tyler was conscious enough to stand, walking beside Dark limply, but blood matted his hair, and when he sat, heavily, at the table, Mark saw him wince and put a hand to his ribs. 

“Happy, Wilford?” Dark sighed, examining his hands minutely. Mark saw, with a wave of revulsion, his friend’s blood on Dark’s hands. 

Before Wilford could respond, before Mark could move, Tyler reared up, headbutting an unsuspecting Dark in the side. With a loud “Oof!” Dark fell to his knees. 

Tyler fell with him, struggling. “Mark, run!”

“Here!” Wilford was on his feet, tossing Mark a spare knife, handled in a beautiful black and red. With a loud grunt, Wilford, too, was on the floor, wrestling Dark down. 

Mark had leaped to his feet to catch the knife and stared, unsure. They had to get out– no, they had to save Bim and the others–

Before he could decide, Dark roared in anger. Black smoke swirled around him like a tornado, forcing Wilford and Tyler to stagger away. Wilford grabbed Tyler’s arm, supporting him, and they stood in front of Mark. 

Dark backed up, hand at his side, suit jacket torn. Black blood oozed through his fingers, and he screamed again, shaking the whole building. He looked up, eyes pure black, filled with hatred. He locked his gaze with Mark’s. 

“YOU.”

He stepped towards Wilford and Tyler, who, to their credit, stood straighter. Mark, behind them, tried to step forward, but Tyler pushed him back. 

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“This isn’t your fight.” Mark ignored Tyler’s glare, stepping forward again, pushing the two of them behind him. He brandished the knife Wilford had given him, vulnerable.

Vulnerable. But not afraid. 

Dark looked at him with something approaching respect, mingled with hate.

“If you kill me,” Mark said, voice betraying the barest hint of a tremor, “you’ll die, too.”

Dark smiled, baring fangs. “Good.” With a roar, he lunged.

Mark braced himself for the impact, holding the knife between him and Dark. 

There was a blur, a sickening, crunching impact, and Mark was knocked backwards, into Wilford’s arms.

“On the contrary,” Ethan breathed, nose-to-nose with Dark, pinning him to the floor, “you’re all idiots.”

“Ethan!” Tyler staggered forward to pull him up, away from Dark, who was already spitting smoke in an effort to get Ethan off of him.

“Wh-what?” Mark grabbed Wilford’s shoulder to steady himself. “S-sorry, Will,” he said, seeing Wilford’s face pale dangerously. Tyler had pulled Ethan off of Dark, who still sat on the floor, staring, bewildered, up at them all. 

“Even the Edgelord knows when he’s outnumbered,” Ethan said, with uncharacteristic cruelty. He dusted himself off, looking between the other three. “Tyler never jogs after midnight,” he explained, with a shrug. Tyler cracked a slow smile, shaking his head. 

“I’m afraid,” Dark said, slowly, getting to his feet, “that I am not the one who is outnumbered.” 

Mark, Wilford, Tyler, and Ethan stared at him, waiting, watching. 

With a snap, four androids appeared behind Dark. The Googles, glowing an ominous red, took a collective step forward.

“You’re not going to get anything out of this, Dark,” Mark spat, moving in front of the others. “You can’t kill us, and you’re not getting the channel.”

“Oh,” Dark said, curling his lips into a smile, “but I am. See, I am the channel, and you can’t keep me out much longer.” He laughed, his form dissipating into black smoke. The lights above the stage cut out, leaving them in darkness, lit only by the Googles’ eyes. 

Behind him, Mark could hear Wilford rifling for his other weapons, handing a knife to both Tyler and Ethan. They tensed, Mark feeling the terror leave him. This, then, was the end. Not a sociopath leaning over him with a knife, but four killer robots. 

He gripped the knife, ready for the last fight.

There was a loud clang, and Google_B fell to his knees, light flickering out. Three loud clangs sounded in succession, and Google_R, _G, and Oliver fell in turn, leaving them all in tense darkness. 

Dark, somewhere in the theater, screamed in anger, and Mark could feel his presence leave the building. He’d throw a temper tantrum. He’d be back.

The lights flickered back on. 

Bim, Dr. Iplier, Kathryn, and Amy stood in front of them, each with a blunt object, freshly dented against the back of the Googles’ metal skulls. 

Kathryn took one look at Wilford and Tyler and sighed, dropping her piece of pipe. “You’re impossible. One night, one night, without getting hurt, is all I ask.” She pushed Dr. Iplier towards them, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, Doc. Work your magic.”

“A-Amy?” 

“Hey, idiot.” She stepped over the Googles’ bodies to grin at Mark, his backpack and bat resting on her shoulder. 

“How did– I mean, was it that obvious?”

“Yes. Yes it was.” She looked over at Ethan, blinking guiltily. “Ethan texted me. I wouldn’t put it past you to go to the office at 2am, but dragging Tyler with you?” She shook her head, frowning at him. Mark, almost giddy with the rush of being alive, hugged her close.

Bim spoke up, watching the Doctor poke at Tyler’s ribs. “Um, guys, we should probably get Wilford and Tyler to the clinic.”

“No, no,” Dr. Iplier muttered, glancing over Wilford. “Wilford will be fine, Tyler just needs to rest. Take him home,” he said, looking to Ethan and Mark, “and let him sleep it off. He’ll be out of sorts for a day or so– even I can’t heal concussions that quickly.” Sure enough, as he lifted his hands, Tyler’s skin had stitched itself back together, and he stood healthy, if tired. 

With a hand under Tyler’s arm, Mark and Ethan walked him out of the theater. Once in the hallway, Mark turned to Wilford, trailing them, rubbing his newly healed collarbone. “Thank you, by the way.”

Wilford scowled at him, stalking away. “Don’t get used to anything, Mark.” 

Mark smiled after him, satisfied. Amy and Kathryn were behind him, talking to a very animated Bim and guiding a tired, sullen Host. 

“I think Host needs to rest,” Amy was saying, looking from Bim to the Host, who was covered in dirt and bruises. Dr. Iplier rushed out of the theater after her. 

“I’ll get him to his room,” he offered, putting a hand on the Host’s trembling arm. “He may be more injured than even I can tell.”

“Th-the Host is grateful,” he murmured weakly, nodding to the Doctor. 

“Thank you, Doc,” Kathryn said, gently shifting the Host’s arm from around her neck to his. They watched the two of them stagger down the hall. 

Together, Amy, Kathryn, and Bim followed the boys out into the main office, then out the front door. The sun was beginning to rise, the sky tinted lavender. 

Mark turned to them as Ethan finished helping Tyler into the car. “Are you guys… okay?”

His apology was unspoken, but obvious, and Bim brushed it away. “We’re okay. I told you not come, dummy–”

Kathryn shot him a look, but Bim continued: “–but I’m really glad that you did. Thank you, Mark.”

Mark went the same shade of pink as the rising sun. “It wasn’t me, not really, Bim.”

“It takes a lot to come here, to fight yourself,” Bim said, cocking his head. “It’s brave.”

Mark laughed a little at the ridiculousness of it all. “I’m not brave, just stupid enough to keep going. I’m still afraid.” Mark shot a look at the office, home to so many nightmares. “I’m still afraid.”

“They say bravery isn’t the absence of fear,” Bim said, following his gaze to the building, “but moving forward in spite of it.” He smiled at Mark benignly, shading his eyes against the rising light. “We’d better get back inside, before someone sees you talking to yourself.” 

With a little wave to the rest of them, Bim disappeared back inside the office doors. Mark turned to Amy and Kathryn.

“Are you two okay?”

“Of course we are,” Amy said, watching his face carefully. “Are you?”

“Don’t answer that,” Kathryn sighed, pulling gently at Amy’s arm. “Go home, rest up, and all of you–” she called to Ethan and Tyler, watching from the car, “–call us when you feel okay.” 

With a tug, a wave, and a gentle hug, the two of them got into Kathryn’s car, and were gone.

“You okay, Mark?”

“Shut up, Ethan,” Mark mumbled, getting tiredly into the car. He started the engine, but stopped, staring at the office. 

“Mark?”

“D’you think it’ll ever be okay?” Mark passed a hand over his face, squinting a little as the sun rose. “With Dark, I mean.”

“I can’t really say,” Ethan said, shrugging a little. In the backseat, Tyler was already snoring lightly. “But I don’t think it’ll stay this way forever, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

Mark stared a moment longer before pulling out of the parking space, pointing the car towards home. The office receded in the rear-view mirror, and Mark didn’t look back until it was out of sight.


End file.
